Dragon Age: The Princess Bride
by Ashborn Dragonrider
Summary: A story you likely all know... with a bit of a twist.
1. As You Wish

**I... have done something terrible. Terribly horrible. You will all shudder at what I have done.**

 **I have, well, re-written a story, changing the characters to Dragon Age characters that I think would be the best fit. A story you're all likely to know.**

 **It has fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, True Love, miracles...**

 **It came to me in a dream, and it enslaved me. I had to write it!**

 **It's horribly terrible, I know... I am very sorry.**

 **I don't own anything... Not the characters, they belong to Bioware. Not the plot, it belongs to... other people who are not me.**

* * *

Etain was raised on a small farm in the country of Ferelden. Her favorite pastimes were riding her horse and tormenting the farm boy that worked there. His name was Alistair, but she never called him that.

The sound of galloping hooves greeted Alistair's ears and he turned just in time to see a young woman with long, wavy brown hair ride to the stables on her lovely chestnut brown horse, her faithful mabari at it's heels, and gracefully dismount. She glanced over at him to see if he was watching and tossed her hair over her shoulder, striding up to him.

She was a beautiful young girl, even in her somewhat raggety riding cape. Her grey-hazel eyes were bright with excitement from her ride, her cheeks pink from the wind.

"Farm boy," she said. Alistair's lips quirked as he met her gaze, seemingly amused. "Polish my horse's saddle. I want to see my face shining in it by morning," she ordered.

Nothing gave her as much pleasure as ordering Alistair around.

Alistair didn't even blink, his half-smile never faltering. "As you wish."

Satisfied, she nodded and wandered back to the house, her dog giving a happy whuff as he followed. Alistair watched her until she disappeared from his sight.

* * *

 _As you wish was all he ever said to her._

That afternoon, she approached him again, this time in her simple dress, carrying two empty pails. Alistair was chopping wood, the strong muscles of his back and arms rippling as he brought the ax down.

Alistair was a strong young man - he'd worked for some time under her father before his death.

She stopped before him, setting the pails down. "Farm boy," she asked and he turned slightly to look at her. "Fill these with water." He raised an eyebrow at her and she had to add, "Please."

He smiled, and the sight made her cheeks warm. "As you wish."

She nodded and slowly made her way back to the house.

 _That day she was amazed to discover that when he was saying 'As you wish', what he meant was, 'I love you.'_

She came to a stop, rounding to look at him, her eyes confused. He stared back with the same warmth his eyes always held when he looked at her. She recognized that now; it was more than an acknowledgement. It was a promise. A vow.

He loved her.

* * *

 _And even more amazing was the day she realized she truly loved him back._

She was in the kitchen, kneading and shaping the dough in her hands, when Alistair stepped in, dressed warmly for the harsh cold of Ferelden, his arms full of firewood. Her heart stuttered in her chest.

Could she... was she brave enough?

She had to do something, catch his attention, tell him that she loved him.

She bit her lips, glancing around her for something, anything, to stop him from leaving.

"Farm boy," she called to him, just before he made it back out the door. He paused, turning to face her.

A pitcher in the corner of her vision caught her eye; close enough for her to reach, but... "Fetch me that pitcher?" she asked, almost shyly.

Wordlessly, he came towards her, each step slow and deliberate. He moved closer than was strictly necessary, close enough that she could hear his heart beat, beating almost as fast as hers. He reached up for the clay jug, securely holding it in his palm, and he brought it down for her.

"As you wish," he whispered.

Her lips slowly turned up into a smile, her hazel eyes shining with joy.

And she loved him back, with everything she had.

* * *

That night, he held her in his arms for the first time and kissed her beneath the sunset.

She loved him. Of that, she was sure now, more than ever before. She suspected she always had, right from the beginning when her father took him in for work. She'd been headstrong and unkind, especially after her father had died, and she regretted that now. He had never deserved her scorn. But even though she was cross and bossy towards him, he never stopped loving her.

He loved her. He had known from the moment he laid eyes on her that if true love existed, this was it. It was _her._

"Maker's breath, but you're beautiful," he breathed. "I am a lucky man."

She blushed charmingly at his compliment and kissed his cheek.

* * *

It was because Alistair loved her then that he had to leave. At dawn, he tore himself from her embrace and told her.

He had no money for marriage or enough to keep her safe, so he packed his few belongings and left the farm to seek his fortune across the sea.

It nearly broke Etain's heart.

She clung to him tightly as he prepared to leave, her eyes red and puffy from crying. "I fear I will never see you again," she whispered.

He smiled sadly against her neck. "Of course you will."

"What if something happens to you?"

He pulled back to look at her, a fire in his amber colored eyes. "Hear this now," he told her. "I will always come for you."

Even crying, she was so beautiful. "How can you be sure?"

He held her face in his hand, wiping a tear away with his thumb. "This is true love. Think this happens every day?"

She bit her lip, but did not push any further. He kissed her, and once again for good measure, before finally reaching down for his pack.

She held his hand as long as she could, until her hand was empty and stretched out in front of her.

She did not go back inside for a long time.

* * *

 _Alistair didn't reach his destination. His ship was attacked by the Dread Pirate Roberts. He never left captives alive._

 _When Etain got the news that Alistair was murdered, she went into her room and shut the door, and for days she neither slept nor ate._

"I will never love again," she told her dog, her hazel eyes gray and lifeless. He whined in reply, his brown eyes sad as he watched his mistress.


	2. King Loghain's Bride-to-be

Five years later, the main square of Denerim was filled as never before to hear the announcement of the great King Loghain's bride-to-be.

Trumpets sounded and the crowd went silent, their focus on the figure on the balcony above.

King Loghain stepped out in full silver armor, moving to stand next to his friend and ally, Arl Howe. Howe's expression was mostly neutral, his gaze on the gathered people below. Loghain looked around at them, and finally raised his hand as he spoke. "My people," he bellowed. "A month from now, our country will have it's five hundredth anniversary. And on that sundown, I shall marry a lady who was once a commoner, not unlike yourselves." The people below began to murmur excitedly.

"Would you like to meet her?"

"Yes!" the crowd cheered.

"People! Princess Etain!"

The doors of the castle opened and a woman in a silken pink gown slowly stepped out into the sunshine, cold and serene.

The crowd went to their knees before her. They could see why the King had chosen her; her noble features, sharp eyes framed with long lashes, and full, pouting lips were positively charming.

Etain's emptiness consumed her. She stared numbly at the people before her, her mouth set in a firm line as she glanced up toward the King she had no affection for. Though the law gave Loghain the right to choose his bride, she did not love him.

Despite his weak reassurance that she would grow to love him, the only joy she found was in her daily ride with her warhound at her side.

Her scarlet riding dress whipped around her as she rode further and further away from the castle, as if she could escape it and the man inside who wished to marry her. Her horse was one of the fastest, but Max kept pace with his mistress. He never fell far behind.

At his barking she slowed her horse and looked up, finally noticing the trio not far ahead. She slowly pulled to a stop before them.

They were quite odd. The closest man was possibly half her height; he had sandy blonde hair pulled into a short ponytail behind his head and a long mustache which was twisted into two braids on the sides of his mouth.

The second man, an elf by the look of his ears, was perhaps an inch or two shorter than her, and he also had blonde hair that was pulled away from his face. His skin was a lovely tanned bronze, but what stood out most to her was the ink on the side of his face, three dark curved lines beside his right eye. He smirked up at her, eyeing her gown in an appreciative manner.

But the third man was monstrous. He must tower over a foot taller than her when she stood on her own. He had tan grey skin, and his white hair was pulled back in rows of braided dreadlocks, tied in a ponytail. His face was fierce and intimidating and her horse whinnied, nervous.

"A word, my lady?" said the dwarven man, looking up at her with icy blue eyes. "We are but poor, lost circus performers. Is there a village nearby?"

Her brow furrowed. Circus performers. Well, they certainly looked like they _could_ be. "There is nothing nearby," she admitted, "not for miles."

The dwarf nodded to the giant and he came towards her. Max barked furiously and surged forward, lunging for him, but the giant struck a blow to his head and with a whimper of pain, Max fell.

"Then there will be no one to hear you scream."

Breath rushed into her lungs and her mind reeled, torn between her disbelief and her instinct to run. Before she could make a sound, the giant's hand came up and closed around her throat.

* * *

"What is that you are ripping?" the elf, Zevran Arainai, asked as he adjusted the sails of the ship.

"It's fabric from the uniform of an army officer of Orlais," Bartrand snapped back, tearing the jacket's crest off. When finished, he tied the crest to the horse's reins.

"Why Orlais?"

"They're the sworn enemy of Ferelden," Bartrand informed the elf sharply, slapping the horse on the rear. "Go,"he commanded. The horse didn't need to be told twice; it was already galloping away. "Once the horse reaches the castle, the fabric will make the prince suspect the Orlesians have abducted his love. When he finds her body dead on the Orlesian frontier, his suspicions will be totally confirmed."

Sten frowned; not that it changed his expression much. "You never mentioned anything about killing anyone when we were hired."

Bartrand sighed, walking up the plank onto the ship. "I've hired you to help me start a war. It's a prestigious line of work, with a long and glorious tradition."

"I do not think it is honorable, or wise, to kill this innocent girl," the Sten said coldly, laying the princess's limp body down gently on the furs that made a bed on the ship.

Bartrand clenched his teeth. "Am I going mad," he said slowly. "Or did the word 'think' escape your lips? You were not hired for your brains, you hippopotamic land mass!"

The qunari narrowed his eyes, seemingly content to ignore him.

"I agree with Sten," the elf drawled lazily as he used both arms to pull himself aboard.

"Oh, the sot has spoken! What happens to her is not truly your concern. _I_ will kill her. Or would you prefer I send you both back to where you were? Unemployed, in Lothering?"

Without allowing them to answer, he stormed over to the edge to prepare for launch.

Sten glowered, grumbling Qunlat curses. His elven companion sauntered over to him, leaning on the rail. "Sten?"

"I do not understand why he continually makes a fuss."

"Fuss, fuss? I think he just likes to scream at _us_."

Sten's stone mask did not waver, but Zevran could swear he saw a twinkle of amusement in the giant man's eyes. "Perhaps he means no... harm."

Zevran grinned. "He's really very short on... charm!"

Sten's lips twitched. "It appears you have a gift of rhyme."

"Yes, yes, some of the time."

"Enough of that!" Bartrand snapped.

"Elf, are there rocks ahead?"

"If there are, we'll all be dead!"

"No more rhymes now, I mean it!"

"Anybody want a peanut?"

"DYEAH!" Bartrand screamed.

* * *

 **As you likely can tell, Bartrand is Vizzini, Zevran is Inigo, and Sten is Fezzik.**

 **Because Sten and Fezzik have such different characters, I did some changing around.**


	3. The Cliffs of Insanity

**As Zevran never knew his father, writing this scene was rather difficult. But here we are. Chapter three.**

* * *

Night hung dark and heavy over the sea as a lone boat made it's way to Orlais.

"We'll reach the cliffs by dawn," Bartrand said to the others. Sten didn't acknowledge him, continuing to fiddle with the mast. Zevran didn't seem to be paying attention at all, looking out on the water behind the ship. "Why are you doing that?"

"Making sure nobody follows us," the elf explained.

"That would be inconceivable," Bartrand argued.

"Despite what you think," Etain muttered, "you will be caught. And when you are, the king will see you all hanged."

Bartrand narrowed his eyes at her. "Of all the necks on this boat, Highness, the one you should be worrying about is your own." Zevran looked behind them again absently, and Bartrand growled, "Stop doing that! We can all relax, it's almost over."

"You are sure nobody would follow us?"

"As I told you, it would be absolutely, totally, and in all other ways, inconceivable. No one in Orlais knows what we've done, and no one in Ferelden could've gotten here so fast." He crossed his arms and leaned back, resting his head on the rail and closing his eyes. Then, he opened them, glancing suspiciously over at Zevran. "Out of curiosity, why do you ask?"

"Oh, it's nothing," Zevran insisted. "suddenly, I just happen to look behind us and something is there."

"What?!" In an instant Bartand was pushing Zevran aside as he looked out behind them. Indeed, off in the distance, he could make out the shape of a ship. "Probably some local fisherman out for a pleasure cruise at night..." He tried to justify. "... Through eel infested waters."

At the sound of a splash, all three men turned to see that they had one less passenger than they did a moment ago.

They rushed over to the side and just a few feet away, Etain was hurridly swimming back towards the other ship. Zevran was actually sort of impressed; most noble women didn't know how to swim.

"Wha-wh-" Bartrand spluttered. He turned to Sten. "Go in! Get after her!"

The giant crossed his arms. "I am a soldier of the Berasaad. I don't swim."

When Bartrand turned his gaze on Zevran, the elf made pawing motions.

"I only dog paddle."

Bartrand screamed in fury. "VEER LEFT! LEFT! LEFT!"

Looking out over the rail, Sten pointed to a ripple in the water. A horrible high-pitched wailing sound echoed around Etain as she struggled to make it to the ship.

"Do you know what that sound is, Highness?" Bartrand taunted. "Those are the shrieking eels. If you don't believe me, just wait! They always grow louder when they're about to feed on human flesh."

Below the surface, something cold and slimy brushed against her and she floundered away, terrified.

"If you swim back now, I promise, no harm will come to you. I doubt you'll get such an offer from the eels."

She could see them now, their thin bodies cutting through the surface of the waves, beady black eyes trained on her. There were at least three in her immediate area, circling her like vultures.

But she couldn't move now, if she did, she'd be dead. It wasn't as if the eels would simply let her swim back to the boat when they'd be losing a very large meal. All she could do was be as still as possible, hoping for just a few more seconds before the eels attacked.

Unbidden, the image of Alistair popped into her mind.

It was her last memory of him, his smiling face at he looked back at her reassuringly, the sun shining through his perfect blonde hair. And though the water was cold, warmth filled her chest. She clung to this memory tightly, shutting her eyes even as one of the eels turned, opening a frightening jaw full of teeth and charging her. If she would die, let her last thought be of him. Let her last expression be a smile. Let her last feeling be love.

There was a loud thump, water sprinkled her face, and the eel's scream abruptly cut off, turning into a quiet whimper.

When she opened her eyes, the eel was swimming awkwardly away as Sten's large hand gripped the back of her riding gown, hoisting her effortlessly out of the water.

"Put her down," Bartrand ordered, "just put her down." Sten obeyed, setting her on the floor of the ship.

Bartrand held out his hand to Zevran, who placed a cord of rope into his outstretched palm before glancing back at the ship behind them.

"I think he's getting closer," he warned.

Bartrand scowled, furiously tying Etain's hands together to prevent her escape attempt from happening again. "He's no concern of ours! Sail on!" To his surprise, Etain didn't appear scared, only solemn. "I suppose you think you're brave, don't you?"

"Only compared to some," she replied.

* * *

True to Bartrand's word, they arrived just as the sun was rising.

So did the stranger in the boat behind them.

"Look! He's right on top of us! I wonder if he's using the same wind we are using," Zevran mused.

"Whoever he is, he's too late. SEE?" Bartrand pointed upward at the rocks looming above them. "THE CLIFFS OF INSANITY!"

Said 'Cliffs of Insanity' must have been at least a hundred feet up.

"HURRY UP!" Bartrand hissed. "MOVE THE THING! AND... THAT OTHER THING! _MOVE IT_!"

Sten's frown was becoming more impressive by the second, and Zevran sighed in exasperation but the two did as he asked, quickly docking.

"We're safe," Bartrand said as he brought out Sten's leathers and exited the boat. "Only Sten is strong enough to go up our way. He'll have to sail around for hours 'til he finds a harbor."

They quickly strapped Etain to Sten, her tied hands around his neck so she wouldn't fall. Then Bartrand pulled himself into the straps, then Zevran. Etain eyed the thick rope hanging down from the top dubiously as the giant slipped on a pair of gloves and slowly began to climb.

He had a dwarf, an elf, and a human clinging to him, yet he climbed as if he were by himself. Etain hung on tighter, shutting her eyes.

Unknown to the others, a masked man clad in black jumped out of his small boat not fifteen seconds after them, grabbed the rope, and started to climb.

Zevran spared a glance down, finally noticing their pursuer. "He's climbing the rope," he murmured in shock. "And he's gaining on us."

"Inconceivable," Bartrand breathed in disbelief. But it was true; the dark figure of the man below them was gaining with every passing moment. "FASTER!"

" _Parshaara_ , I am trying, _bas,_ " Sten snapped back.

"You were _supposed_ to be this colossus," Bartrand bit. "Your people are these great legendary things, and _yet he gains_!"

Sten glared down at the dwarf attached to his chest, keeping up his steady pace. " _I_ am carrying three people, while he has only himself."

"I do not accept excuses. I'm just going to have to find myself a new giant, that's all."

"Do not make promises you cannot keep, dwarf."

The gap between them grew even smaller as Sten neared the top.

"DID I MAKE IT CLEAR THAT YOUR JOB IS AT STAKE?"

Once at the top, Zevran was out of the straps in a flash, helping Etain out and laying her on the ground before turning and releasing Bartrand. Bartrand hurried over to the rock that the rope was wound around, took out his dagger, and started to cut. Sten pulled himself up just in time; quickly the rope split and the cut end fell over the side of the cliff.

Slowly, Zevran and Sten made their way over to the cliff's edge and looked down to see if the man had fallen with the rope.

Sten crossed his arms, looking impressed. "He has good arms for a human."

Bartrand pushed them out of the way, looking down. Not fifteen feet below them, the masked man clad in black gripped the cliff, looking back up at them.

"HE DIDN'T FALL? INCONCEIVABLE!"

"You keep using that word," Zevran noted. "I do not think it means what you think it means, my friend."

The trio looked down again. As they watched, the man in black reached above him to another ledge and pulled himself up a half step."Maker's breath!" Zevran whispered. "He's climbing!"

"Whoever he is, he's obviously seen us with the princess and must therefore die. You," Bartrand ordered Sten. "carry her. We'll head straight for the Orlesian frontier. Catch up when he's dead. If he falls, fine. If not, kill him." Without another word, the dwarf stalked off.

Sten turned to Zevran. "Be careful," Sten warned.

Zevran grinned up at the giant. "Going soft on me, Sten?"

Sten scowled, picking Etain up and hefting her over his shoulder, following the dwarf.

Humming a piece of an Antivan opera, Zevran examined one of his silverite daggers. How long would it take this fellow to get up there already, he wondered, wandering over to the edge of the cliff and looking downward.

It looked like he had made no progress.

"Hello there!" He called. The man in black looked up, confused, and Zevran waved down at him cheerfully. "Slow going?"

The man in black sighed. "Look, I don't mean to be rude, but this is not as easy as it looks, so I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't distract me."

Zevran held up his hands. "Sorry."

"Thank you," the man in black replied tersely.

After a few moments of pacing, Zevran glanced over the edge again. "I don't suppose you could... speed things up?" he asked hopefully.

"If you're in such a hurry, you could lower a rope or a tree branch or find something useful to do."

"I could do that," Zevran offered. "I've got some rope up here, but I do not think you would accept my help, since I am only waiting around to kill you."

The man in black snorted. "That does put a damper on our relationship."

"But, I promise I will not kill you until you reach the top," Zevran promised, placing his hands on his knees.

"That's very comforting," The man in black assured him. "but I'm afraid you'll just have to wait."

"I hate waiting." Zevran sighed. "I could give you my word as an Antivan...?"

"No good," the man in black groaned, trying to adjust his position. "I've known too many Antivans."

"Is there any way you'll trust me?"

"Nothing comes to mind."

All traces of humor left the elf's face. "I swear on the soul of my lover, Rinna, you will reach the top alive."

"Well... that was... unexpected. Throw me the rope."

Luckily, the rope was coiled around the rock several times. Zevran quickly uncoiled it just enough, throwing it down into the other man's hands. With the man in black climbing with his feet and Zevran pulling, he made it to the top.

He stepped up onto the flat rocks, gratefully nodding his head as he reached for his sword and shield. "Thank you."

"Wait now," Zevran stopped him. "we'll wait until you're ready."

"Again, thank you." They both took a seat on opposite rocks, the man in black immediately going to empty the pebbles from his boot.

"I do not mean to pry," Zevran started. "but you don't by any chance happen to have six fingers on your right hand?"

The man in black stopped. "Do you always begin conversations this way?"

"My lover was slaughtered by a six fingered man." The man in black gave a half smile, holding up his gloved right hand. Five fingers. Zevran sighed, neither relieved nor disappointed. "Was a great assassin, my Rinna. When the six fingered man appeared and offered a special mission, we took the job. We killed an entire household before we were done. When we returned to the six fingered man, he was waiting with the guard to arrest us for the crime, ordering us to surrender. Rinna refused. Without another word, the six fingered man slashed her through the heart. I loved Rinna, but I could not face that many men alone. So I ran. And since then I have dedicated my life to finding him again. The next time we meet, I will not run. I will go up to the six fingered man and say, "Hello. My name is Zevran Arainai. You killed my lover. Prepare to die.""

"You've done nothing but hunt this man?"

Zevran laughed, shaking his head. "Well, not exactly. You see, I lost a lot of money when I fled the Crows. They would have killed me if I returned without payment and without Rinna. It's been years now and I am starting to lose confidence. So I work for Bartrand to pay the bills. There's not a lot of money in revenge."

They were both quiet for a moment. "Well," the man in black said, rising to his feet. "I certainly hope you find him someday."

"You are ready, then?" Zevran asked.

"Whether I am or not, you've been more than fair." The man in black took the shield off his back, followed by his sword.

Zevran grinned over at his opponent. "You seem a decent fellow. I hate to kill you."

The man in black smiled wryly. "You seem a decent fellow. I hate to die."

"Begin."


	4. The Dread Pirate Roberts

**I would like to thank everyone who reviewed, followed, and favorite this story. Thank you guys so much!**

* * *

"INCONCEIVABLE!" Bartrand shouted at the sight before him. Off in the distance, the man in black was running across the terrain, headed straight for them. Bartrand scowled and held out his hand for the girl. "Give her to me. Catch up with us quickly!"

Sten sighed, switching Etain over to him. "What is it you wish me to do?"

"FINISH HIM, FINISH HIM! YOUR WAY!" He yanked Etain's tied hands, forcing her to walk.

"My way?" the giant asked skeptically.

"Pick up one of those rocks, get behind the boulder. In a few minutes the man in black will come running around the bend. The minute his HEAD is in view, HIT IT WITH THE ROCK!" And with that last shout, Bartrand disappeared around the boulders with Princess Etain in tow.

Sten scowled, but did as he was told, picking up one of the rocks and hiding behind one of the larger boulders.

* * *

Max's bark echoed over the cliff as he sniffed the sandy footprints along the edge, his ears perked up and alert.

Loghain crossed his gauntleted arms, impressed. Just below him in the dirt were drops of blood, and on the rock a few feet away there was a scratch. From a sword hitting it, no doubt. "It seems there was a mighty duel." He gestured to his observations. "It ranged all over. They were both masters."

"Who won?" Howe asked from atop his horse. "How did it end?"

"The loser ran off alone, but the winner," he paused, looking at Max. The dog barked again, pointing his nose towards Orlais. "Followed those footprints toward Orlais."

Howe's brow furrowed. "Shall we track them both?"

"The loser is alone. He will not be where my bride is. The winner followed the princess's footprints; track him. Clearly this was all planned by warriors of Orlais. We must all be ready for whatever lies ahead."

"Could this be a trap?" asked Howe.

Loghain mounted his horse. "I always think everything could be a trap... which is why I'm still alive."

* * *

Bartrand sighed, tracing one of the engravings of his dagger as it pressed to the princess's throat. He would miss that damned giant, he thought. Not because of his charming company, but because qunari outside the Qun were incredibly rare, and difficult to hire.

Zevran, however, he wasn't to broken up about losing. No, the Antivan Crows had hundreds of trained assassins. All it took was a bit of coin to hire them, anyway.

As he expected, the man in black quickly came up through the trees, slowing when he saw Bartrand and Etain sitting at a makeshift table on a rock. His eyes went from Etain, to the dagger, to Bartrand, then back to the dagger as he slowly moved forward.

"So," he calls, "it is down to you, and it is down to me." When the man didn't stop, he continued, "If you wish her dead, by all means, keep moving forward."

The man in black raised defenseless hands. "Let me explain."

"There's nothing to explain." Bartrand disagreed. "You're trying to kidnap what I have rightfully stolen."

The man in black shrugged. "Perhaps... an arrangement can be reached?"

"There will be no arrangement, and you're killing her."

The dagger dug into her throat and Etain gasped in pain. The man in black froze in his tracks.

"If there can be no arrangement, then we are at an impasse."

"I'm afraid so," Bartrand sneered. "I can't compete with you physically, and you're no match for my brains."

"You're that smart?" The man asked.

"Let me put it this way: have you ever heard of Genitivi, Shartan, Threnodies?"

"Yes."

"Morons."

"Really," the man in black mused skeptically. "In that case, I challenge you to a battle of wits."

"For the princess?" Bartrand asked.

The man in black nodded.

"To the death?"

Again he nodded.

"I accept." Bartrand retracted the dagger from the princess's throat and sheathed it, shifting into a more comfortable position. She sighed in relief, relaxing her tensed muscles as her eyes blinked behind the blindfold.

"Good. Then pour the wine." Bartrand did as he was asked as the man in black sat across from him, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small vial. As the dwarf watched, the man in black uncorked it and offered it to him. "Inhale this, but do not touch."

Bartrand leaned in and carefully sniffed the vial. He wrinkled his nose, confused. "I smell nothing."

"What you do not smell is called Iocane powder," the man explained. "It is odorless, tasteless, dissolves instantly in liquid, and is among the more deadly poisons known to man."

"Hmm."

He turned away from Bartrand with one goblet in each hand. A few moments later, he turned back and replaced them. "All right. Where is the poison? The battle of wits has begun. It ends when you decide and we both drink, and find out who is right..." he paused. "and who is dead."

Bartrand's brow furrowed. "But it's so simple. All I have to do is divine from what I know of you: are you the sort of man who would put the poison into his own goblet or his enemy's? Now, a clever man would put the poison into his own goblet, because he would know that only a great fool would reach for what he was given. I am not a great fool, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you. But you must have known I was not a great fool, you would have counted on it, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me."

Now the man in black looked confused. "You've made your decision then?"

"Not remotely. Because Iocane comes from Rivain, as everyone knows, and Rivain is entirely peopled with criminals, and criminals are used to having people not trust them, as you are not trusted by me, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you."

"Truly, you have a dizzying intellect," the man in black noted.

"WAIT TILL I GET GOING!" Bartrand boasted. "Where was I?"

"Rivain."

"Yes, Rivain. And you must have suspected I would have known the powder's origin, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me."

"You give me too much credit," the man in black disagreed. "You're just stalling now."

"YOU'D LIKE TO THINK THAT, WOULDN'T YOU? You've beaten my giant, which means you're exceptionally strong, so you could've put the poison in your own goblet, trusting your strength would save you, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you. But, you've also bested my Antivan Crow, which means you must have studied, and in studying you must have learned that man is mortal, so you would have put the poison as far from yourself as possible, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me."

His eyes narrowed behind his mask. "You're trying to trick me into giving away something. It won't work."

"IT HAS WORKED! YOU'VE GIVEN _EVERYTHING_ AWAY! I KNOW WHERE THE POISON IS!"

"Then make your choice," the man in black insisted.

"I will, and I choose-" he suddenly glanced over the man's shoulder, pointing. "What in the world can that be?"

The man in black whirled around. "What? Where?"

Bartrand switched the cups.

After searching the trees and finding nothing, the man in black turned back around. "I didn't see anything."

"Well," Bartrand said, feigning innocence. "I could have sworn I saw something. No matter." He chuckled quietly to himself?"

"What's so funny?"

"I'll tell you in a minute," Bartrand promised. "First, let's drink. Me from my glass," he picked up the goblet before him, "and you from yours."

They both raised their glasses in mock toast and drank.

The man in black set his goblet down first. "You guessed wrong."

Bartrand let out a bark of laughter. "You only think I guessed wrong! That's what's so funny! I switched glasses when your back was turned! Ha ha! You fool! You fell victim to one of the classic blunders! The most famous is never get involved in a land war with qunari, but only slightly less well known is this: never go in against a dwarf when death is on the line! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Ha ha ha-" as abruptly as it had started, Bartrand's laugh cut off and he fell limply to the side, dead.

Unfazed, the man in black quickly removed the princess's blindfold.

She glared at him suspiciously. "Who are you?"

"I'm no one to be trifled with," he said simply. "That is all you ever need know." He then moved to untie her hands.

"So then all that time it was your cup that was poisoned," Etain murmured.

"They were both poisoned," he explained, pulling her to her feet. "I spent the last few years building up an immunity to Iocane powder." And as soon as she regained her balance, he grabbed her hand and began to run.

* * *

Max barked, growling at the rocky ground as if it offended him.

Loghain knelt beside the large area of flattened grass, surveying the area with interest. "Someone has beaten a giant," he realized. "There will be great suffering in Orlais if she dies."

He mounted his horse once more and they followed Max into the forest.

* * *

Just when Etain thought she would die if she ran any more, the man in black stopped at a group of rocks and allowed her to sit.

"Catch your breath." He ordered.

"What do you want with me, anyway?" she huffed. "Ransom? Loghain will kill you; it's difficult for one to collect ransom when they're dead."

"Oh? You think your dearest love will save you?" he mocked.

"I never said he was my dearest love," she protested, "and yes, he will save me. That I know."

"You admit to me you do not love your fiancé.

"He knows I do not love him," she stated coldly.

"You're not capable of love is what you mean."

Angrily, she stood, nearly nose to nose with him. "I have loved more deeply than a man like yourself could ever dream!"

"Consider this your only warning, Highness," he warned. "Where I come from, there are penalties when a woman lies."

He grabbed her arm and they continued running.

* * *

Max was becoming more and more excited by the second, barking and prancing around frantically as they reached a makeshift table on a rock.

When they searched the area, they found a plain vial, uncorked and empty on the ground.

Loghain brought the vial to his nose, sniffing it carefully. "Iocane. I'd bet my life on it." Max barked again, sniffing at smaller, daintier footprints in the dirt. "And there are the princess's footprints. She is alive, or was an hour ago. If she is otherwise when I find her, I shall be very put out." He rose, mounted his horse, and together they rode off.

* * *

"Rest, Highness."

Etain flopped down on another rock, glaring up at her captor. "I'm wondering something," she told him. "You wouldn't happen to be the Dread Pirate Roberts, would you?"

He bowed. "I admit it with pride. What can I do for you?"

"You can die slowly, cut into a thousand pieces." She replied coldly.

"Tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk," he scolded. "Hardly complimentary, your Highness. Why loose your venom on me?"

"You killed my love," she said bitterly.

He shrugged. "It's possible. I kill a lot of people. Who was this love of yours? Another king like this one, ugly, rich, and scabby?"

She shook her head. "No. A farm boy. Poor. Poor and perfect. With eyes like amber in the sun..." she trailed off, her own eyes looking lost in a memory. "On the high seas, your ship attacked. And the Dread Pirate Roberts never takes prisoners."

"I can't afford to make exceptions," he said cheekily. "I mean, once word leaks out that a pirate has gone soft, people begin to disobey you and then it's nothing but work, work, work all the time."

"You mock my pain!" She snarled.

"Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something." He crossed his arms, wandering towards her. "I remember this farm boy of yours, I think. This would be, what, five years ago? Does it bother you to hear?"

She looked away. "Nothing you can say will upset me."

"He died well. That should please you. No bribe attempts or blubbering. He simply said, "Please... please, I need to live."" He turned back to her. "It was the "please" that caught my memory. I asked him what was so important for him here. "True Love", he replied. And then he spoke of a girl of surpassing beauty and faithfulness; I can only assume he meant you. You should bless me for destroying him before he found out what you really are."

"And what am I?" she snapped, rising to her feet.

"Faithfulness he talked of, Madame, your enduring faithfulness. Now tell me truly, when you found out he was gone, did you get engaged to your king at the same hour, or did you wait a whole week out of respect for the dead?"

"You mocked me once. Never do it again! I never had a choice! I died that day!" At the sound of hoof beats, the pair looked to the top of the hill to see a group on horseback, the flag of royalty of Ferelden flying above them. Seeing her chance, Etain whirled on him. "And you can die too for all I care!"

They were already standing on the edge of the hill. All it took was a shove, and down he went.

Huffs of air escaped him on each impact. "As... you... wish!"

The air rushed out of Etain's lungs as if she'd been struck.

"Alistair," she choked, "what have I done?"

Without a second thought, she leaped after him.

* * *

At the top of the hill, the group of men on horseback scratched their heads.

"They disappeared," Loghain cursed. "He must have seen us closing in. Which might account for his panicking into error. Unless I am wrong, and I am never wrong, they are headed dead into the Korcari Wilds."

They rode off.

* * *

The pair finally stopped rolling at the bottom; Alistair's mask had come off on the way down, revealing his handsome features and golden hair. He was mostly unhurt though.

Alistair leaned over Etain, pulling her into his lap. "Can you move at all?"

"Move?" she breathed. "You're alive. If you want I could fly." Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him close as he returned her embrace.

After a few moments, he pulled back, cradling her cheek in his hand. "I told you I would always come for you," he reminded her. "Why didn't you wait for me?"

"Well, you were dead," she murmured.

He smiled. "Death cannot stop True Love. All it can do is delay it for a while."

"I will never doubt again," she vowed.

"There will never be a need," he promised quietly, then he tilted her chin up and pressed his lips tenderly to hers.

The hoof beats drew nearer, and they broke apart to see Loghain's party riding down towards the valley.

"Ha!" Alistair exclaimed. "Your pig fiancé is too late. A few more steps and we'll be safe in the Korcari Wilds."

He grabbed her hand again and they raced across the ravine floor towards the Wilds.

"We'll never survive," Etain said, bewildered.

"Nonsense," Alistair dismissed. "You're only saying that because no one ever has."

* * *

It didn't take them long to reach the Wilds, even on foot. Etain was immediately struck with how cold it was, how the trees seemed to loom threateningly over them, and how she felt as though her every movement was being watched.

Alistair pursed his lips. "It's not that bad."

Etain turned to him, incredulous, and he shrugged.

"I'm not saying I want to build a summer home here, but the trees are actually quite lovely," he observed.

They started walking, hand in hand, through the surprisingly low grass. Though he kept his eye on Etain, he kept his free hand on his sword in case of danger.

A good thing, too, when a wolf leaped out of a nearby bush and launched itself at them, it's beady eyes glistening with the prospect of a meal. Etain gasped in terror, bracing herself.

But Alistair was fast. He had his sword out in moments, and in the next second it was buried in the animal's chest. The wolf gave a quiet whimper, then slumped to the ground.

The sword was bloody when he retracted it. "Well now," he chuckled. "That was an adventure."

Etain huffed at him, but she was smiling as she retook his hand and they continued on their way.

"This will all soon be but a happy memory. Because Roberts' ship Revenge is anchored at the far end. And I, as you know, am Roberts."

"You weren't joking?" she asked. He shook his head. "But how is that possible, since he's been marauding twenty years, and you only left me five years ago?"

"I myself am often surprised at life's little quirks. See, what I told you before about saying "please" was true. It intrigued Roberts, as did my description of your beauty. Finally, Roberts decided something. He said, "All right Alistair, I've never had a valet, you can try it for tonight. I'll most likely kill you in the morning." Three years he said that. "Good night Alistair. Good work. Sleep well. I'll most likely kill you in the morning." It was a fine time for me. I was learning to fence, fight, anything anyone would teach me. Roberts and I eventually became friends. And then it happened."

"What happened? Go on," she encouraged.

"Well," Alistair continued. "Roberts had grown so rich, he wanted to retire. So he took me to his cabin, and told me his secret. "I am not the Dread Pirate Roberts", he said. "My name is Duncan...""


End file.
